The wind is still blowing. It rattles things on the deck as if someone is out there. The howling tires me, draining my vitality. The dishes spread before me. It is habit that saves me and moves me on. Now they are clean and draining on the counter. I get to sit before my keyboard with my cup of tea. I am pondering my feelings and words. How do I describe them? How am I going to deal with them? The wind carries on. A crow caws. I sip my tea.

I discovered yesterday that laundry baskets are not easy to deal with. Even though I was intent in emptying it once and for all, it was still difficult to do.  After fiddling around with a few articles, I had to lay it aside again for another time.  No use wasting energy when the timing was wrong. Instead I turned to the wall unit and bookshelves in the basement. They are full of stuff and dust as well. Here was a starting point, an opening for a beginning. That’s what most is needed – a beginning.

It is evening. How the day sped by, though I felt slow as molasses in winter. Supper is done and so is my glass of wine. I am tapping the last words to this post. The wind hasn’t stopped its lament. It’s crying still. It was wicked walking Sheba in it but it is done. I am, too, but in a good way. I just had to put one foot in front of the other. Somehow things have a way of taking care of themselves.